


Report, Observations from Therapy

by Jasper (CatsAndHounds)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Lovecraftian therapy threesome, Multi, Other, Your daily dose of masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 19:50:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5639821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsAndHounds/pseuds/Jasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things man was not meant to see, and sometimes, man sees them anyway. In most cases, things are the same, just in a slightly different form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Report, Observations from Therapy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hamibal (CatsAndHounds)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsAndHounds/gifts).



I write:

The therapeutic techniques of extra-dimensional creatures are unorthodox.

I remind myself that this report has to be professional.

I stare at the sentence; there is nothing untruthful about that sentence. And, as everyone knows, there is a lot that can be concealed under the guise of being truthful. There is a lot that can be repressed, and a lot that can be said in a few stark words. There is also very much that remains, for better or worse, unsaid and unrecorded.

The therapeutic techniques of extra-dimensional creatures are unorthodox. That is not to say there are not parallels to some parts of activities found in the mundane version of therapy. For instance, there is communication. 

If you count screams as interspecies communication, there is plenty of that.

I had the privilege to sit on a therapy session of the extra-dimensional kind, of which I am so very glad to say that I will not be taking any more offers to repeat. If you ever get the chance, I strongly advise you to not do so, unless you have a strong stomach.

It’s hard to describe the figures I watched, nor the words—if indeed there were words at all—said.

I could discern three distinct figures from my vantage point behind what I will call ‘glass’ but had a slimier texture. I made the mistake of touching said glass and I don’t suppose I will ever get my fingertip back.

I cannot recall what colors in which they were clad nor if they had any shapes behind all-encompassing and bloblike. I was told by my translator and guide, a tall man with fins and gibbous eyes, that the smaller of the figures was the counselor. I did not inquire the relationship of the other two figures to each other, though they did start from the opposite corners—or the nearest approximation—of the room.

As I watched from that small window, I wondered if the two similarly shaped beings were relations, as they gathered closer and drifted away from each other.

My guide flinched at several points. He told me that I was lucky my pitiful ears could not register the sounds. Being at the mercy of a sharp-tongued mother and several acerbic lawyers, I could sympathize. What I could see was anger; it does not take a trained alienist to know what anger looks like.

So far, the therapy seemed typical. 

 

What was atypical is that at one point, all three creatures sloughed off their outer—for wont of a better word—membranes. I turned to my guide to ask him about this biology, but he only looked slightly greener and unperturbed. Perhaps they were the equivalent of coats. It seemed rude to ask, when my guide only coughed. 

Is it hot in the room, I did inquire at some point.

Probably, he replied.

I returned my attention to the figures in the room, and I found that they all were in a singular mass. It was difficult to discern where one being began and one ended. A sudden, horrified thought crossed my mind: they were growing into an amalgam of essences. Were they eating each other, I thought in dismay. I had not signed up for a cannibalistic display, but my fears were soon quieted by the way they disentangled for an instant.

The three figures circled each other; two of the beings started chasing their fellow before coalescing once again into a heap. At one point, I heard a sound. The figures keened in unison and deflated. By then, one being was sandwiched between the other two, neatly enveloped in tentacles and appendages.

I supposed that that was an embrace of some sort. A pat on the back. A handshake for those without phalanges. The therapist had down its job, at least, for I could see no anger left. I found my guide had difficulty swallowing as he watched this display. I politely inquired if he was amphibious and was in need of moisture.

He merely shook his head.

All in all, it was a singularly draining experience.

The worst thing of all, I suppose, is their forms of entertainment. They broadcast messages from a screen! I only had the misfortune of seeing the many-eyed and finned host creature once, but I know the image haunts my dreams. I was told it was a news show. I nodded while the explanation was given to me, trying to imagine what sort of news could these beings care about. I can only imagine what the strange and unintelligible news that creature delivered.

(  
When he looks over the script, Frd says, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

It’s bad enough that they do public safety announcements on drugs, but this is something that parents should be telling their kids. Frd’s never had to do an announcement about having to brush your damned teeth, after all.

Frd glares at the bright studio lights. The camera’s red, double-pupiled eye winks at him.

Lcyl shrugs, long brown hair flowing in four directions. The giant fans aren’t kind. “It’s the story. Run it or find a better one. Be thankful it’s not another puppy invasion.”

Frd loosens his tie with his four fingered hand. He clears the phlegm from his throat. He keeps his visage as straight as possible when he announces, “Have you had your daily dose of masturbation today?”

He reads the script, and he can’t believe that parents aren’t telling their kids how to properly maintain tentacle membranes. Surely, the tradition of finding masturbation in a dark miasma-shrouded silk cocoon hasn't died? Are parents not dropping off their spawn over dark pits of reptiles anymore? How are kids going to figure this out on their own?

He takes a breath to sign off, “And remember, masturbation is very necessary. If no one’s screaming, something’s not right.”

“What is this, a circus?” he laments, when he’s finished. “That was the worst thing I’ve had to do since the great Snarl of Red Fish.”

“Yes,” his co-anchor says, popping her head back into this dimension. Her three eyes and eight eyelids look up at him. “You know it’s a media circus. Great advertising.”

Frd flops a fin. “I know,” he sighs. “Sometimes I wish it wasn’t.”  
)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from mod!Bonnie: This is a pinch hit I asked Jasper to pick up during a period we weren't sure your writer was going to make it, Ham. Hopefully, your original writer still will, but Jasper was amazing and did this anyway.


End file.
